


Winning Games

by milkteapuppyy



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Drunk Sex, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29628402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkteapuppyy/pseuds/milkteapuppyy
Summary: After finding Ging drunk off his ass outside some sleazy bar, Pariston sees the perfect opportunity to have some fun.(Find me on twitter! @milkteapuppyy)
Relationships: Ging Freecs/Pariston Hill
Comments: 7
Kudos: 14





	Winning Games

**Author's Note:**

> Um hi I just wanna say thanks for clicking on my fic and also that this is ur last chance to leave <3 I wrote this exclusively on sleepless nights and anxiety it is not good I promise

The stench of alcohol was one Pariston had presumed to be the worst. It was artificial and medicinal in a way that reminded him of all his worst memories. However, the abhorrent, pungent kick of rum mingled with the already aromatic state of the man beside him, all merged within his compact car? That might just have it beat.  
He spared a glance at the man in his passenger seat, who had slumped over, slipping under the seatbelt he had forced him to wear. His knees touched the underside of the glovebox, and his back was nearly on his seat, a most unbecoming look for a zodiac, especially for one Pariston associated with. And that was saying something.  
"Ging." He remarked, turning his gaze back to the road. He could see him trying to right himself out of his peripheral.  
"Mmmhh?"  
"Sit up."  
Ging grumbled, as he did, working himself up to an at least acceptable sitting position.  
"I was fine," he uttered, fixing his seatbelt and leaning his seat back a bit to get himself comfortable. "Didn' need your help." Pariston scoffed with his best attempt at being lighthearted with him.  
"I found you after you'd been kicked out of the bar."  
"Happens all the time, I'd've found a place."  
"It's 2 am. And while I'm certain you likely knew a place, as you seem to know every place like the back of your hand-" (He could practically hear the smirk on Ging's face) "-I don't trust in your ability to have made it there, judging by the state of you alone." Ging waved his hand dismissively.  
"I'd rather sleep on the streets than anywhere near you." He muttered, slurring a bit. Pariston tried to act offended at the notion, but he wasn't fooling anyone. This was one of the greatest opportunities that had fallen into his lap in a good long while, there was no way he couldn't take advantage. Luckily the dim street lights at least concealed his smile a little.  
"Oh but I couldn't let you do that, Ging. If anything had happened to you, that would have been very disappointing."  
"For you."  
Pariston hummed along to the song playing quietly on the radio, refusing to acknowledge that fact.  
"Fine. I still wanna know how you knew where to look."  
"Intuition," he lied. Ging didn't believe this for a second, but in his inebriated state he didn't care much to be interrogating him. He leaned his seat back again, falling asleep for the rest of the ride.

Pariston's penthouse floor appeared, as the man himself, very secretive. Upon first glance, it was simple and easy to read, a minimalist design lacking in much decor. What little there was didn't demand attention in any particular way, but with nothing concrete to draw the eye, suddenly the entire place seemed worthy of focus. Ging would have burned this place to memory if he cared enough, or saw any importance of it past analyzing the man living in it. Besides, with his clouded mind, he doubted his memory would serve a reliable narrator once he sobered up. Maybe if he thought it worthy in the morning, he'd have a subtle look around. After all, as soon as he was sober, he was getting out of here.  
"Bed?" He asked unceremoniously. Pariston smiled, as he did.  
"There's only one, seeing as this place isn't exactly built for... cohabitation." Ging furrowed his brows.  
"Mmh. Couch it is"  
"Haven't got one." Upon closer inspection, as Ging turned to get a 360 of the room, he was right. Not a couch in sight. This place was hardly a home at all, and seemed almost entirely temporary in its presence. "Seeing as I don't spend much time here, I hardly see it fit to have a dedicated space to lounge, I'm just not the type. You'd know all about that, Ging."  
The way he said his name was strange, with a subtle, underlying... _something,_ but he wasn't one to dwell on it.  
"Alright. Floor then."  
"I'm afraid I can't allow that, Ging." There it was, his name again. Why did he say it like that?  
"The hell d'ya mean?"  
"Well... Seeing as you're a rather high-risk type... I wouldn't put it past you to make your escape in the middle of the night. In your state, you'd not only be putting yourself but citizens at risk, and you know how poorly that would reflect upon the zodiacs."  
"So what. Ev'rybody hates me anyways." Pariston shot him a glare, dangerous yet soft, his dark eyes glinting in the soft moonlight filtered in through the glass wall overlooking the city.  
"I won't risk you getting hurt, not before I've finished with you." He said this with a smile, just as he said most things, and though there was a hint of venom behind his tone, it was strangely artificial. Ging decided Pariston was most definitely going to be an ass about this if he didn't let him have his way, so he caved. Just this once.  
"Fine," He heaved, "Where's the bedroom." His head was starting to feel heavy. Even though the alcohol had kicked in a long time ago, and he was significantly less dexterous than normal, only now was it starting to fully course through his bloodstream and take him over. He just wanted to sleep and get this day over with. 

_Just as planned._  
Pariston turned away from Ging so that he could walk him to the bedroom, but in reality it was to hide the absolutely perverse smile on his face. Everything was going exactly as he wanted. Was it a bit of a cheap move to wait until he was inebriated to make his first move? A bit. But what's politics if not an underhanded game. By now, Ging was visibly under the alcohol's spell, and while he'd never manage to get himself blackout drunk, this was about as close as Pariston would ever see him. He had calculated this moment, of course, stalling the conversation until Ging was sufficiently lacking in his typical fighting spirit, when he'd be at his easiest to use.  
After leading him to the bedroom, he sat at the edge of his bed, still dressed to the nines in his horrendous suit.  
"Ging..." He said quietly. There was something tangibly different in his tone, and the airflow in the room seemed to still in bated breath for the response.  
"Mmh."  
Pariston would roll his eyes if it didn't blow his cover.  
"Come here."  
At this point, he was sure Ging's inhibitions had been lowered enough that he would listen to most simple commands without an argument, in hopes that it would get him closer to what he wanted. He was right. Ging made his way to where Pariston sat, putting them at almost eye level with each other. It looked, to Ging, like Pariston was offering up a piece of himself, of his control of the situation, but that couldn't be farther from the truth. On the chess board laid out in Pariston's mind, he was moments away from stealing Ging's last objection. His queen.  
"What."  
He wanted to reach out, to touch him and end this game here and now, but with patience comes opportunity. He steeled himself.  
"What do you think of puzzles...?" Ging absorbed the question. It took him a few moments to get his gears turning, but when they did he was quick with a response.  
"You could go mad trying to work for a definitive answer to the most simple open ended question..."  
"So your opinion is?"  
"They're the highlight of my work."  
These answers felt rehearsed. He was much quicker and more articulate answering them, so drastic a shift that this had to have been a question he'd heard many times. _Perfect._  
His hands moved at once, his fingers grazing Ging's hips. Light enough to be perceived as accidental, but far too intentional to be ignored.  
"...And me?" The question was a distraction first and foremost, but Pariston would be lying if he said he wasn't curious of the answer. Ging tensed just slightly, more visible in his aura than his body, the former of which always gave him away. Still, his eyes remained fixed on Pariston.  
"No matter what I say..." He began, forcibly trying to relieve his tension (and failing), "you'll take it as a compliment."  
"Try me."  
His fingers had snaked upwards, his palms now fully resting against his hips. Ging tensed again, more visibly this time, but wouldn't back down.  
"Can't figure you out. You're like me, and I don't like sayin' that. Because... I don't like to think that I'm as devoid as you."  
"What do you mean by that?"  
"Does that matter?" Pariston smiled.  
"No."  
By now, his hands had traversed to his lower torso, slowly inching upwards, waiting for something, _something_ to call them to action. Ging was suddenly so much closer to him than he had seemed before. The air around them, which seemed to have stilled earlier, now flowed just as evenly as ever, though now it brought a chill between them. It was just them, and Pariston's hands, waiting, waiting, waiting...  
"Ging."  
"Paris..."

_Checkmate._

All at once, Pariston's hands had made their way to Ging's back, and were pushing him forward, into him and onto him, their lips meeting gracelessly in the middle. Neither moved to stop it, though strangely Pariston, the initiator, didn't seem to be moving him forward anymore. _I've won my game already. If he takes this further... I'll have won his._  
Take it further he did.  
Ging, taken aback by the gesture at first, allowed himself to be fully absorbed in the feeling. He pushed Pariston against the bed, slotting a knee between his legs as he loosened his absolutely horrid tie and went to undo the buttons of his coat, then his shirt. Once undone, all he did was rest his hands over his chest, feeling every inch of it as though trying to ascribe it to memory. Knowing Ging, it wouldn't shock him to think that he was. Ging bit at his bottom lip with unexpected hunger, and for a moment it felt like he was losing. After all, this wasn't quite Pariston's element, though he knew that if he followed his enemy's moves, just as in any other game of strategy, he would triumph.  
He moved to take off Ging's overshirt, then the one underneath, revealing his torso as well. His chest was broad and toned, with a smattering of dark chest hair over it, and evenly sculpted abs just below. As much as he despised him, he had to admit that the man before him was a stunning sight to behold. He found himself running his hands over his chest as he admired it, though his attention was quickly drawn away as Ging's hand - which now felt large and admittedly domineering - tilted his chin up for another kiss. It was all tongues and teeth, without the grace that he wanted to gain his lead with, but a lead he would still be taking regardless. Before long, Ging's hands were fumbling with the button of his pants, and in a moment they were hitting the floor with his briefs. Pariston did the same, and felt a strange rush in the vulnerability of being completely and utterly nude in Ging's arms. Under him. Beneath him. Something about the thrill of nearly losing only drove home his certainty of winning. He looked down.  
Ging was already hard, that was quite evident already, and Pariston was too, though considerably less so. Ging rolled his hips seemingly on a whim, rutting their members flush against each other in a move that admittedly caught Pariston off guard. Ging groaned with pleasure as he moved to bury his face in his neck, dragging his tongue up the sensitive expanse of skin that lie there. Pariston allowed himself to lean into it a bit, even drawing his own hips up to encourage Ging. Encourage him he did, as within a moment Ging was rutting against him again, letting out quiet, strained noises of pleasure that sent vibrations up Pariston's neck and electricity down his spine. Soon enough, the stimulation had made him just as hard as Ging, whose leaking head was acting as a pseudo-lubricant as he kept up his slow yet consistent pace. A sinful thought bubbled up from within him; _more._ With the stimulation came the most satisfying feeling, of fulfilling some secret desire, some carnal impulse that he had denied himself for so long. Of course, he knew what sex was like, he was once a rebellious teenager, but once he'd grown he didn't see much of a point in it. He didn't actively abstain from it, but the situation in which it could be used to his advantage never came up, and thus he had isolated the thought from his mind until now. He wasn't sure if it was the pent up hormones or the fact that it was _Ging,_ but the thought that it could be the latter made him uneasy. He pushed the thought from his mind, and realized he had been making noise this entire time. Soft and low, with every time their hips connected, Pariston would moan just slightly. It was a vulnerable sound, one that he'd like to pretend was calculated to sound just so, but he would be wrong. He had caught himself up in the tangles of Ging's motions, deliberate and rehearsed, yet straying from all expectation. Pariston had no doubt now that he had seen this coming, and had allowed himself to be found knowing exactly where the crux of his visit would be spent attaining. As always, frustratingly, Ging was two steps ahead of him. He needed a way to turn the tables.  
Trailing a hand down from his chest, Pariston wrapped a hand around Ging's shaft, reveling in the gasp it drew out of him, drinking in his moans with a kiss. He moved slowly. Carefully. Not enough to let on his desperation to win this game of theirs.  
"Paris..."  
There it was again. His name, the first to leave Ging's lips since they had started. It was rasped out with hesitance, though the attempts to hide how red his face had gone were futile. Was he hesitant to call out to him for fear he appear subservient, or was he afraid to admit something to himself? This thought also made Pariston uneasy. He kept up the monotonous rhythm of his hand, pumping Ging absentmindedly as his real focus lie on the face of the man in question. It was far more interesting anyway.  
"Ging..." He found himself repeating. It was soft, just as his moans were, but without the hesitance of Ging's mid-toned rasp. He didn't want to question why he was so apt to this. He ached to be touched as well, chasing that head-to-head competition he adored so much, along with something else. "Please..."  
If politics is an underhanded game, this was certainly one of Pariston's dirtiest moves. The look in Ging's eye upon his plea leaving his lips, though nearly imperceptible, was absolutely gorgeous. A fire sparked behind them just then, one that told him that he had never expected this move. A hand moved to Pariston's length, a wordless response - or perhaps a retaliation - to his plea. Thick, calloused fingers dragged against his skin perfectly, and he felt a shameful bead of precum leak from his head and onto his stomach. A thumb traced over it and sent a jolt through him. _He's good._ He moved his own hand a bit faster on Ging, running his palm over his head and drinking in his reactions, reveling in the noises he made. They were deep and heavy, much more present than Pariston's, which were light and airy.  
"Fuck," Ging choked out between moans. His legs shook a bit, and his eyes had screwed shut with the feeling. _It's been quite a while for him, too._ "Paris..."  
There was his name again. With every time he uttered it, another bout of sparks jolted down Pariston's spine. Winning felt good. He wanted to hear it again and again, but more importantly, he wanted to pull it out of him by force. Leaning back, he ran his hand through his thick hair, drawing his eye.  
"Mmm... Again."  
It was his first try at a proper order. A risky move, but that is what Pariston is known for above all else.  
"Wh.."  
"Say my name, Ging."  
There was a moment of silence between them as they both seemed frozen in their positions, Pariston in the glow of just having made his move, and Ging, large, domineering, powerful Ging, looming above him, his face blank and yet so deeply lost in thought. It was a beautiful sight. It seemed either were afraid to breathe for fear of stirring anything that might change the course of what happened next.  
"...Pariston..."  
Oh, he could have orgasmed on the spot. This was exactly what he had wanted. Even beneath him, utterly helpless to his physical strength and prowess, Pariston held complete control over the situation.  
"Again."  
"Pariston..." He drew it out this time, his voice catching on a moan as Pariston continued to work him with one hand, keeping a careful eye on how his face changed. It was anything but subtle, a bite of the lip, his jaw going slack, his eyes rolling back just so, but it intrigued him nonetheless.  
"Again."  
"Paristonnn..." The delay between order and fulfillment was getting shorter. This pleased Pariston more than he cared to admit, almost as much as Ging's hand which had still remained firm around his shaft, but had been delayed in its motions until now, as he thumbed over his head again. He let out a soft moan of his own, moving his hand from Ging's hair down to his neck, resting it on the back of it. He could feel himself approaching his climax already, though he attempted to stave it off, opting instead to have as much fun with Ging as he could. He wanted to see how many times he could call his name before he broke, before he simply refused to play anymore. He wanted to ruin him.  
"Again."  
"Ngh..."  
"That didn't sound like my name, Ging..." He sneered, punctuated by a rather cruel pass over Ging's head with his palm that left him jerking his hips for more. _He's as close as I am._  
"Hate... you." He uttered through gritted teeth. Pariston's smile only grew wider.  
"Hmm? Didn't catch that..." He repeated his move from before, sending Ging absolutely reeling.  
"P-Paris... Fuck." He choked out. Pariston hummed contentedly.  
"There we go." Ging shot him a glare that sent a jolt straight to his stomach, and he licked his lips. He picked up his pace a bit more intentionally, sure to run the fingers of his other hand just barely over the nape of his neck at the same time, overwhelming him a bit. He pulled Ging down so that their faces were mere inches apart, though didn't kiss him. Not yet. He pulled him even farther, so that his lips just grazed the shell of his ear. He licked it tentatively, relishing the noise it drew from him. He dropped his voice to a near whisper.  
"I want my name to be the only thing that leaves your mouth," he started, a smile creeping onto his face. "I want it to be all you can say as you come undone... as I break you." Ging noticeably stiffened, but tried not to let himself seem caught off guard.  
"Tch. What makes you think I'd - ngh - do that for you..."  
"You've been so compliant thus far... I know you will." He let go of his neck, returning his hand to his hair as he pulled away from him, hands still pumping each other. At this point it was secondary to the game, and anything an orgasm could bring them was ultimately less than what knowledge could be gained about the other through an act like this.  
Pariston felt sparks low in his stomach, burning him alive from inside in the best possible way as he leaned into Ging's touch. He'd let himself give into this desire of his, but only on the condition that he break Ging first. Only when he hears his name, drawn out in rapture, only as he's the last thing Ging can think about as he's completely unraveled, will he allow himself that privilege. He needed something to assure his desired outcome, and he needed something fast. He looked up at Ging's face, glistening with sweat and contorted with pleasure, touching the side of it with his hand to get the man's attention. He turned up half lidded eyes to look down at him, dark fan of eyelashes obscuring them just so. Pariston guided his head up just slightly so he could see those eyes, watch them change as he made debateably his most underhanded move.  
"Ging... I need you..."  
The reaction was immediate. Pariston was endlessly grateful for making Ging's eyes more visible, as the effect his words had on him was beautiful. They widened just a bit, a deep umber exposed to the pale light of the moon and shining dangerously before Pariston. He swallowed, his prominent adam's apple bobbing against his throat. This whole time, Pariston had kept up his motions, but this, this moment, seemed to push Ging over. He stilled, maintaining eye contact for just a moment before his screwed shut with the pleasure. His head fell slack as his hips jerked messily into his hand, a string of profanities spilling from his lips while thick ropes of cum made a mess of Pariston's chest. For a moment, it seemed as though Pariston's prediction had been wrong, as the only thing leaving Ging's lips were expletives in myriad languages, but then...  
"Paris-!"  
He had regained his lead at the very end, and had won. For all his risky moves, it was worth it. The thought that he was all that persisted in Ging's mind as he was utterly ruined, that he was the only coherent thought left alive in the man he had unraveled, good _lord_ did that excitement push him over hard. The sparks in his stomach burst into a roaring flame, taking him over completely as he lost himself to the feeling. Stars danced behind his eyes as he arched his back to get just a bit closer, just a bit more, until it all erupted at once and he found himself spilling over and onto his chest.

What happened directly after Pariston would never know, or so he surmised, as the next thing he saw was the sunlight filtering in through his windows, casting a warm ray over the two of them, their bodies still intertwined. His skin felt tacky with cum and sweat, and Ging's muscle-heavy form laid limply over his chest didn't do much to make that feeling any less apparent. Strangely though, he found himself unwilling to toss him off, instead wrapping his arms around him to feel the way his body rose and fell with his deep breathing.  
Though he wanted to say that this had just been an experiment, one of his endless games between him and Ging, he feared that was probably wrong. Worryingly so, especially as he ran a hand through the man's hair as he formed this very thought. The feelings, horrid feelings that had come over him that night, many of which he realized had been suppressed for ages, were strange. He longed to torture and hurt and break, to ruin Ging beyond comprehension, and yet the feeling of him draped over his chest, a hand run gracelessly through his sweat-slicked hair, stirred something else. Something deeper.

_I might grow to hate someone for the first time in my life._

That was, to the surprise of no one but Pariston Hill, a lie.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello besties I rushed this ending because it is midnight right now and I wanted to get this shit DONE so I could post it lol


End file.
